


Yub Nub, and a Celebration Song (otherwise known as 'I went to Endor for a battle and all I got was married to my enemy')

by OccasionallyCreative



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Canon Universe, Endor, Ewoks, F/M, Tropes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2018-11-30 20:11:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11470803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OccasionallyCreative/pseuds/OccasionallyCreative
Summary: It starts with a forest moon, a destined clash between a scavenger and a knight, and some Very Determined Ewoks.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of those ideas that come when you're listening to music and you let your mind wander - in this case, I was listening to Frozen's 'Fixer Upper'. Both the song and the idea got stuck in my head.
> 
> Note about the Ewokese: As there are only like, 140 official Ewokese words I can find, I’ve had to stitch together for the extended Ewok dialogue in this fic the provided language by Ben Burtt with a pigeon version of Nepali, which is one of the languages on which Ewokese was originally based.

Kylo Ren’s lightsaber hums and crackles in the peace of the forest moon.

He remembers Endor faintly. The hidden part of him quietly, fondly, remembers being taken with the chubby bright-eyed Ewoks that adored his mother and father. _Fruk_ , they called his father. _Freet_ , they called his mother. Then he remembers his father, grinning when Ben asked if they were related to Uncle Chewie.

Kylo shakes his head, breathing laboured underneath the mask. She and his uncle had returned there after Hux foolishly invaded Ahch-To, his troopers burning down huts, the homes of the ancient, long dead Jedi. They’d thought his uncle would be broken by such a display. His uncle proved to be stronger than military might. His uncle fled without looking back, with the girl, and Hux had endured the Supreme Leader’s wrath.

That had been a year cycle and a half ago. Since then, his uncle has been by his mother’s side. There have been skirmishes, brief battles in which blaster bolts have hit and his lightsaber has clashed with the girl’s, both the First Order and the Resistance suffering heavy losses. But never the girl. She has escaped each time, without injury and without blemish. Whenever it seems one of them will gain the upper hand over the other, they reach a stalemate.

Kylo wipes the underside of his chin. The only part where his robes and mask don’t quite connect. The wind from the red-tinted trees is sticky on that part, and his palms are sweating underneath the leather of his gloves. Kylo tugs his gloves off, dropping them in the grass.

The red forest around him is dense. Thick with the sound of birdsong and the rustle of the branches. Green moss covers fallen red trees. The canopy of leaves above is sparse.

Sighing, Kylo flexes his fingers, feeling the air and the Force. It vibrates a few kilometres away, among a thicker section of the brush, just beyond the line of trees that line this wide, winding path.

Technically he should focus his efforts on finding his uncle. Find his uncle, he will find the Resistance. Find the Resistance, and he shall face his mother. It has been so many years since he has seen her face.

He walks further into the brush. His foot strays over a tree root and he trips. He manages to gain his balance before he can fall, his palm pressing against the bark of a tree. In his head, the girl snorts.

 _I’m surprised you can see anything in that,_ she taunts, and he senses, briefly, her signature.

 _I see enough,_ he replies.

 _Is it a requirement for all Knights of Ren to wear a stupid mask?_ He glowers in the dark, peering up through his visor around the trees. A bead of sweat rolls down his temple. It annoys him to find that he doesn’t have an answer.

Behind him, he hears a rustle. He turns. Nothing, save for a blue-winged butterfly fluttering on his forefinger. He snatches his hand away, brushing the butterfly off his finger.

_You’re not good with nature, are you?_

_You cannot outrun this, scavenger,_ he spits out into the Force, when the rest of his progress proves slow, having to climb over endless logs and through endless foliage, his feet crushing flowers underfoot.

 _On the contrary_ , is her reply, and at all once, he feels it. The spike of triumph. It gives her away and he’s turning on his heel, lifting his saber and blocking her overhead blow.

“I’m ready,” she smirks, now in front of him and scowling. He adjusts his feet, his blade ever on hers until they are standing opposite one another, ready for the duel.

She is the first to draw away, sliding her blade from his. She takes a breath, centring herself. He could strike her down now. End it; bring her body back to the Supreme Leader. Or he could bind her with the Force and dip into her head, extract every secret she knows about the Resistance. Do something useful instead of battle her to a stalemate, as all their encounters have gone thus far. He can never kill her, and that’s what makes him want to complete the mission all the more.

Within a moment, she is sweeping her blade round in a sharp half-circle towards his torso. He smashes it away, stepping back. He tests her with a two-handed overhead blow towards the top of her head; she shrieks, grunting with the sudden weight of his strength on her blade. His red blade snarls and spits sparks against her blue, flooding her face with pale lavender as it had on Starkiller, snow falling around them.

Overhead, the branches of Endor whisper in the wind.

“Do you feel it, scavenger?” he whispers. “I do not intend to just walk away from this.”

“Neither do I.”

She growls, shoving him away with the Force. Kylo pants inside his mask. Sweat is slick on his brow. She holds her lightsaber at her side, waiting for his retaliating strike. He will have to face the scavenger without his mask if he stands any chance of victory.

No matter. She knows his face, and what she did.

Thumbing off his saber, he pulls at the mask. It releases with a soft click and a hiss. He straightens up. He drops the mask into the grass, lifting his eyes towards the girl. She pauses for a moment. Once, the scar was an injury, a cauterised wound that haunted her dreams. With every treatment after every battle, it has faded to a faint scar above his eyebrow, but it is there and it still haunts her, that night. He knows it does. So he smiles where she swallows, refocusing her grip on her saber while his lightsaber sparks with life.

“Thessa! Ee chee wa maa!”

Both of them stop. The girl narrows her eyes.

“What’s that?” she asks, pointing with her saber to the Ewok stood between them, burst out from the brush, carrying a spear. It is a spear he points at Rey with a growl.

“Um, an Ewok,” Kylo says dumbly, staring at the creature. He wears the cream cloth of a scout, a hood wrapped around the crown of his head, revealing his face. A knife is strapped to his belt. He looks vaguely familiar, eyes sparking with bright ideas.

Rey thumbs off her lightsaber, but the scout shoves his spear in the air at her, babbling warnings. On the wrong side, the girl may be, but she is clever. She holds up her hands in surrender to the scout. The scout’s head twitches, looking up at Kylo.

“Kush? Kush-nee-chug?” he demands. Kylo knows him. Those eyes are more familiar by the second, as is the voice. He remembers it screaming in delight, holding onto a spear, demonstrating something. A great victory.

“Rey,” Kylo answers, remembering himself. “Rey. _Goot_ ,” he adds, basic Ewokese rolling up from the wordless, silent part of him into his head. He remembers his mother teaching it to him, smiling as he repeated the words and laughed, repeating them again and again. “Jeerota.”

The scout is wary, though slowly beginning to let down his spear.

“Jeerota?”

“Jeerota,” Kylo repeats. The scout is contented. Kylo slides his eyes towards Rey. She lowers her hands, the corner of her mouth quirking with a smile.

“Seems like he knows you,” she says, her eyebrows tilting up.

“I think…” The name softly comes to him. This scout showed him a dance. At least, he remembers being told to follow and then circling around a campfire. “Yes. Paploo?”

The scout looks up at the name. “Paploo, chak!” he shouts, delighted. “Chak theesa! Theesa, fruk freet!”

Paploo goes bouncing off into the brush, pausing and looking back. He sees they haven’t moved. He waves his spear, encouraging.

“Tyatee!” When they don’t move, Paploo growls, firmer than before. “Tyatee, veek! Veek!”

From the brush, more Ewok appear. All carry weapons, arrows, bows, spears, knives at their hips. Some mutter, others blink. They seem to recognise him, or parts of him. His mother’s eyes probably, his father’s nose too.

“Were they all watching us fight?” Rey asks.

Paploo gestures to the other Ewoks. “Chesl cha, veek.”

Kylo swallows. He can feel heat flooding his cheeks, and he feels like too much _Ben_. He clears his throat, rolling his shoulders. “You’re aware of the Battle of Endor?” he asks.

“Only slightly,” Rey says, cautious rather than the anger he is so used to. Two of the scouts clutch her hands, pulling her after Paploo.

“Tyatee!” shouts Paploo again, distantly, already far away past the trees.

“The Ewoks helped defeat the Empire,” Kylo says, small Ewok hands grabbing his fingers and pulling him forwards, “and I think we’re supposed to follow them.”

* * *

Just the appearance of one Ewok alone, Paploo, had brought their long-awaited battle to a hold. A whole tribe of them has bought about a wordless truce.

Rey studies them with a distant fascination. It would be too easy to brush them off as adorable, and for a while, she did, smiling at their sharp language and the spears they wielded like warriors. Then they were brought to their village, hidden among the treetops. More faces, all with wide eyes, appeared from the huts within the trees, linked by ancient bridges. Everything about their village has the appearance, the impression, of having grown from the red trees themselves, the bridges and huts tightly interwoven into the forest.

Paploo hollered, his tongue trilling. The Ewoks, hiding by their doors, inch forward in return. Their heads tilt and their language comes from their tongues in murmurs, growing more and more excited as they exchange words.

Some of them she recognises.

Theesa, whispers some. Others flick their gaze between her and Ren.

“Jeerota? Goot jeerota?” whispers one.

“Den, den,” replies another, laughing. They nudge the other’s side. “Nuv.”

Such excitement fades when another Ewok emerges, from the largest hut. His fur brown, he carries a staff in one hand, older than any spear wielded by his tribe, and he holds the hand of another. A female, with white and grey fur. Her black eyes are smaller than the males, her fur less scruffy than that of a warrior and her hood a vivid red.

The rest of the Ewoks bow wordlessly to the two arrivals.

“The leaders?” Rey whispers to Ren. He knows of this planet, and for now, he’s not her mortal enemy, he’s her guide.

Ren is too busy looking gobsmacked, in his way of looking anything, of a frown between his brow and a twitch at the side of his mouth, his shoulders hunched forward. He must respect, or know, who stands before them, for he clears his throat and folds his hands behind his back, bowing his head.

A yes, then.

Rey follows suit, bowing her head. Despite how long she has been running from the man beside her, she has managed to see diplomacy in action under General Organa.

“Wicket, sku,” Ren says with the correct amount of reverence for greeting a leader.

The General’s son has the same skills, it seems.

“Goopa,” says the Ewok before them in return. “Savagata ota ro weewa, Ben.”

“They don’t know then,” Rey mutters. Ren nudges her foot, eyes blazing as they swivel towards her and back towards Wicket. She clears her throat, giving another nod to Wicket, leader of the Ewoks.

“Yo tapa inko goot jeerota,” he continues, stepping forward, using his staff more like a cane. His small hand holds hers. He tilts his head, looking as if curious about her. Rey looks over to Ren. He frowns momentarily. Clearly, he only knows the basics of the language, and this is already too complex for his memory.

“Chak,” he says slowly. “Rey.”

“Tyasa parcha im yehu! Thek, āja!” Wicket shouts, boundless in energy as his subjects. He hurries away from them then, huddling with his wife and subjects, their language overlapping into a cacophony of laughter and excitement.

“What – was that?” Rey says, turning towards Kylo.

“We agreed to a peace treaty. I expect there’ll be a ceremony. As long as it doesn’t involve cannibalism, we’ll be fine.”

“Wait, what?” Rey barks, turning a few heads of the Ewoks, but they are too caught up in their politics to pay real attention to her. She drops her voice to a hiss, stepping closer to Ren, raising an eyebrow. “Cannibalism?”

“It only happened once,” Ren says, defensive, “they thought Threepio was a god. It’s a long story.”

The wife of Wicket returns to them, small eyes blinking up at Rey, and she smiles, offering out her hand.

“Tyatee,” she says, with a gentle voice.

Rey slides her gaze towards Ren. “Just as long as they don’t think either of us gods.”

“They’re very friendly otherwise,” Ren says, a smirk growing on his face. Aware of the Ewoks around them, glancing at them, still chattering and gesturing, plans being made, Rey schools her face into a small smile and lets the female lead her inside.

* * *

The female Ewok points to herself and says ‘Kneesaa’, trilling in celebration, what Rey assumes to be the Ewok version of a fist pump when Rey repeats it. Other Ewoks, also carrying the markers of females, their fur neatly brushed, gather in the large hut. Some of them offer food she has not yet encountered, baskets of rich purple berries.

“Cambylictus, roda,” they urge, and Rey dips into the basket with relish. The berry's juice rolls over her tongue, tart in its sweetness. The females leave her with the basket. Rey picks idly at the berries, watching how the females click their tongues as they work around her.

Kneesaa is sat in the corner of the hut at a wooden table. At one side, she has a pile of twigs and thin branches, flexible to the touch. Cut flower blossoms, an indigo blue that glows, are set in a pile on her other side. Singing softly, Kneesaa works with the branches and twigs, intertwining them into a ring. She carefully arranges the blossoms within the thin branches.

Occasionally she glances at Rey and tilts her head, eyes narrowing, as if searching for perspective. She calls an order. Another female Ewok, with black fur, gestures at Rey for her to lower her head. They examine her head, measuring it and call something over to Kneesaa.

 _They’re making me… a crown_ , Rey whispers into the Force to Kylo Ren, her guide to this strange world, keeping her smile as she obeys the buoyant, bright-eyed Ewoks.

 _Part of their culture_ , Kylo explains, sounding ever more like a prince. _They like giving gifts. They’ll probably give you a dress as well._

 _A crown would suit you_ , she retorts back. She knows of the General’s lineage, and what it means for him. She feels a spike of anger, sees an image of him glower in her head.

_Funny._

Contented with her work, Kneesaa leaps up, approaching Rey. Wordlessly, without prompt, Rey bends her head back down towards the chief’s wife. Kneesaa hums happily as she slides the crown onto Rey’s head. Behind her, Rey feels the small fingers of another Ewok thread through her hair.

When she turns, she feels Kneesaa tapping her knee.

“Edah,” she says, with a scornful tone, like Luke when Rey does a training move wrong.

“Sorry,” Rey tries, but the offence is forgotten. Kneesaa is chattering with one of the females, with yellow fur, who promptly runs out of the hut, bouncing along the path of one of the bridges. Rey breathes, letting her eyes close for a moment, feeling her hair being arranged, sections of it gently pulled into a thin braid by her right ear.

The yellow-haired female returns, carrying a package wrapped in cloth and string. She sets it in Rey’s lap.

“Eee ehshtee hat chaaa, hat posaka. Ah tull garnu lo ta kumari Leia toe garnu sta dan thakita timi bata ro,” explains Kneesaa. With reverence, she speaks the general’s name. Rey can feel all their eyes settle on her, pensive, waiting. 

It is not a sensation she is used to; the recipient of a gift. She watches her fingers pull at the string. She feels her smile brighten, shifting from diplomacy to joy, to emotion, when she sees their gift. 

It is a simple dress. Made of brown cloth, the collar cut across the high of the chest with a small ‘V’ shape in the middle and a white underlay underneath the brown cloth. It is of their tribe, she knows. Her heart swells.

 _Teeha_ , says Kylo into her head, spoiling the moment. _It means thank you._

“Teeha,” she repeats softly, still staring at the garment. It is no more beautiful than her old clothes of Jakku, but it isn't weighed down by years. It carries its memories well.

When she is changed into the dress, her hair adorned with more indigo blue blossoms—Kneesaa calls them 'aura' as she slides them into Rey's braid—and the rest of her hair loose and resting against her collarbone, Kneesaa smiles.

“Luu," she says, with kindness, "mitchay luu.”

 _Beautiful_ , Kylo translates for her. Rey hides a roll of her eyes as Kneesaa leads her out of the hut, back out into the main square of the village.

 _Kind of got that Ren_ , she says but all thoughts stop when she sees him. He is waiting before an extinguished campfire, with male Ewoks surrounding him. He is dressed in a white shirt, a set of brown cloth trousers and his leather boots. A cloak adorned with leaves and the indigo blue blossoms from Endor’s forest floor rests on his shoulders. The glow of the blossoms tickles his jaw, shining blue against his pale skin. A crown of branches and flowers is perched atop his head, his hair braided and decorated in a similar fashion to hers.

The female Ewoks bid her kneel with more gestures, and they give her the same cloak. Rey stands.

A hushed, reverent silence falls over the Ewoks. Whatever giddiness they had is gone, their hands folded in front of them and their spears set down. 

Wicket, their chief, steps forward and stands between her and Kylo. He has the studious look of diplomacy about him, but she can feel his anxiety humming within their link, once a burden, a weapon and now nothing more but a bridge between them that they cross intermittently, exchanging barbs and pieces of memories. 

In both hands, Wicket holds his staff. He tilts his head back, holding the staff up to the sky.

Rey looks down, feeling Kneesaa’s fingers at her hand.

“Gren grek,” she instructs kindly. Rey’s eyes move to Kylo. The mask of diplomacy momentarily slips and he looks embarrassed, the highs of his cheeks flushed pink.

 _We, um… we have to hold hands during the ceremony, it seems._ Still wordless, nothing verbalised between them, but his voice inside her head isn’t the dark growl of a warrior. It sounds like the awkward mutterings of a teenage boy, the ones she heard from the yellow-haired boy on Jakku, the one she had met on a lonely night and kissed under the stars. He’d been gone the next morning.

Kylo's dark eyes hold hers. They’ve never touched each other, only their lightsabers connecting in the heat of battle.

She glances to Kneesaa at her left side, Wicket standing by her right. Rey sucks in a breath, staring at Kylo. She links her bare fingers with his. In the trees, birds sing. A blue butterfly lands on the back of Kylo’s hand, flapping its wings before it flies off again. The Ewoks give an admiring sigh, watching the butterfly disappear up into the green canopy of trees overhead.

“Teeha Kna Naa,” Wicket sings, his voice echoing through the forest. The Ewoks’ silence grows ever more reverent. “Fling cha goon ya con ta yehan nuv! Allayloo ta nuv!”

“Allayloo ta nuv!” declares the Ewoks around them. The silence soon returns, as Wicket lays the staff in his hands on the backs of their joined hands.

“Dohor,” Wicket commands, looking at Kylo.

 _Repeat_ translates Kylo.

Wicket remains looking at Kylo as he speaks.

“Aja meechoo gren ko bhala Chirpa.”

“Aja meechoo gren ko bhala Chirpa,” Kylo repeats. The space between his brows creases.

 _Beyond your vocabulary?_ Rey teases.

Kylo ignores her. Wicket continues.

“Toe sam’nita paitrika neta. Toe aja meechoo nee ta ramro Rey.”

 _They’re using a more formal version of the language than I’m used to_ , Kylo says gruffly as he repeats Wicket’s words aloud, diplomatic where in her head, he still sounds like a petulant, puzzled teenager.

Wicket looks to Rey, grabbing her attention.

“Dohor,” he orders. She nods.

“Aja meechoo nee ta ko Ben.”

“Aja meechoo,” she repeats, watching Kylo. He stares back at her, a twitch of a smile at the corner of his lips. _This is ridiculous_ , she hears him mutter between their connection.

 _This is diplomacy, remember?_ If they wish to continue their battle to its stalemate, they must endure the politics of Endor. “Nee ta ko Ben,” she finishes.

“Aja meechoo arachee ota ta buddhi ko ta Kna Naa, kush nidesta chu ota nuv toe arandee zeeg ta chaya.”

“Aja meechoo arachee ota ta buddhi ko ta Kna Naa,” she starts. The Ewoks around them inch closer, the silence growing taut. All of them eager to hear her repeat the words. “Kush nidesta chu ota nuv… toe arandee zeeg ta… chaya.”

“ALLAYLOO TA NUV!” yell all the Ewoks at once, cheering. Among it all, Wicket reaches for their hands, making Rey and Kylo crouch as he takes the ancient staff and leans on it, his small hands bringing their joined fingers closer. He bows his head, planting a brief kiss to their hands.

“Sangita!” he commands, walking between them towards his tribe. “Sangita!”

A drumbeat starts up. Paploo is drumming, a tribal rhythm recognisable to even the young Ewoks, carried on the shoulders of their parents.

“Allayloo!” cries Kneesaa, taking the hand of Wicket, leading their tribe into a merry dance.

“Scavenger…” she hears him before her and jumps, surprised. She thought he’d slink away as soon as the ceremony was done. Kylo has his eyes on his hands. Rey follows his gaze, gasping when she sees. Their fingers are still linked.

“Sorry,” she says quickly, dropping his hands and turning, watching the Ewoks, female, male, young and old, dancing. It’s as if they’ve achieved a lifelong dream, or triumphed over some great evil.

“My mother told me of their victory dances,” Kylo says, and she glances over to him out of the corner of her eye, seeing him stepping towards her, standing a small distance away. Her palms tingle with the memory of his touch.

“They go all night,” he says, tilting his head up to the stars beyond the canopy. “Up until sunrise.”

“And we’re honoured guests, aren’t we? Considering the peace treaty.”

“Yes.”  

All at once, Kylo Ren looks more tired than Rey’s ever seen him.

“Then, the truce—” she begins, but he is voicing her offer before she can make it.

“Might as well let it last the night.”

She clears her throat, nodding, returning her attention to the Ewoks. She folds her arms over her chest, her hands still tingling. A strange flutter settles at the low of her stomach. She feels a smile twitch at her lips. Rey shakes her head, straightening her back. A fire is lit, and the Ewoks dance happily around it, Paploo leading the dance.

“Until the morning.”

“Until the morning.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a treaty is sealed with the holding of hands, it is the tradition of the Ewoks to allow the two representative parties time alone to settle unresolved issues. None shall disturb them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG, an update?! For a WIP?! Luke Skywalker is in disbelief. I'm so sorry for the wait, but this story is back under control and it's, at last, going in the right direction.

It’s the fourth hour into the celebration. Kneesaa and her handmaids undo her plaits and brush her hair with their soft fingers. The first Rey knows of a disturbance is the thud of sticks on a body and overlapping screeches. She can feel the blows like they are on her own body, and the skirt of her dress flaps around her legs as she hurries out, the crowd of Ewoks around her headed by Kneesaa. They jog over the bridges and through the paths of the village towards the noise.

Wicket leads the other charge, his subjects slamming the sticks of their spears over Kylo Ren’s head.

“Ehda!” they yell until they are satisfied. Ren is curled up against the trunk of a tree that reaches into the heavens and he wears a look of defeat. Kneesaa pushes past Rey, snapping at her husband, her chief. Quick words are exchanged between Wicket and Kneesaa then, domestic words, leading to Kneesaa sighing, sadly, in Ren’s direction.

“Tyatee,” she commands the tribe, and they move off. The music begins again.

Rey doesn’t need Ren in her head, nor does she need him looking at her as he does now, with a dark glare and a raised eyebrow, to know what he has tried to do.

“Are you surprised?” he asks after some silence, sullen. There are scratches on his cheek, shallow ones that don’t seem inclined to bleed. She folds her arms over her chest, her lips twitching with a smirk.

“I guess the Ewoks believe it bad luck,” she says.

He shifts, making to stand, his eyes leaving her.

“No -- not particularly,” he answers finally. He rolls his shoulders as he rises to his feet, his glare becoming more that now of one worn by a young visitor to Jakku, complaining to their parents of the hot sun. He stretches, yawning. In the distance, the music picks up the pace. Glancing towards the crowd, she sees Kneesaa and Wicket watching them with wary eyes. Rey turns back to Ren. His face has shifted again, settled into that blank stare he often wears around her, edged with fascination.

“Goodnight, Ren.” Her fists clenching at her sides, she avoids his eyes, pushing past him, towards her hut.

She doesn’t venture far before Kneesaa is in her path, both hands and a brow raised. She beckons her back, back, over the bridge’s path. Back again.

“Oof!” Rey’s cheeks flush pink as she realises into which back she has stumbled, her dress connecting with the all-black tunic of Kylo Ren. Turning, she sees a tinge of pink, the tips of his ears, protruding from Ren’s saggy curls. His deep brown eyes blaze agitation.

Wicket, muttering underneath his breath, lowers his spear as he walks between them, taking her hand, Ren’s hand too, and forces them together, rough on smooth. Her calloused hands look small and lost when linked like this with his. His hands don’t betray the sins he’s committed; and with those scratches on his face, he looks more like the general, and his father.

Ren looks away from her then, her thought seeping into his mind. She feels his reaction. It’s a spike in the shallow of her gut.

Wicket says something in his language, then slides between them, joining the festivities.

Rey snatches her hand away from his, clenching and unclenching her fingers at her side. The two times she has touched him now, he’s unexpectedly warm. Like a furnace imploding within, his body heat only a consequence of the action. Her palm tingles with the leftover heat.

Kneesaa makes them turn and beckons them towards another hut. Rey gives her previous hut a brief longing look, where Ewok maidens flow to and fro, tidying things away, distributing berries among one another. Turning her head, she spots Ren’s gaze flicking away from her. His face is set into that permanent disapproval he carries every time they meet.

Kneesaa comes to a stop before a hut right at the edge of the village, gesturing eagerly.

Blue flowers adorn the entrance, the same flowers that adorned her hair, his hair, during the ceremony.

Rey swallows thickly, not particularly wishing to move. Ren half-crouches to enter the hut. Sometimes she wonders how someone as bulky as he can be quite some graceful in his movements. It doesn’t come from the Force, she knows that. He uses the Force like he uses his lightsaber. Without thought, clumsily and rashly.

_ No, I don't, scavenger. _ She twitches at hearing his petulant tone inside her head, almost a scornful laugh coming.

Then she feels Kneesaa prodding at her knees, urging her forwards, and she stumbles to escape it, entering the hut. Anger rushes through her like water as she hears the hut door close behind her. Forced into all of this because of one stupid, ridiculous misunderstanding.

On a wooden table, the crowns of the ceremony have been left, lying side by side. A single bed, more of a nest than a bed, made of grass stands directly opposite her. The wildlife of Endor chirps and flutters mutedly past the hut walls. She can’t help but think of her AT-AT on Jakku, though she hasn’t been there since that fateful day with Finn. Another scavenger would’ve taken it over by now. Taken every piece, even the flower, and sold it on to Plutt. The flower she’d found in the middle of a wasteland, the bed. The plate, the empty portion packets that never held quite enough to fill her belly.

She was almost sick, the first time the Resistance fed her. They gave her the smallest portions possible of rich food that smelt of home and friendship, unlike the oily, metallic scents of Plutt’s portions, and she’d spent the night awake, unable to sleep and her belly feeling heavy.

“What are you doing?”

She jumps at the sound of Ren’s voice. She’s trained herself to respond to his voice at the first; to be ready. He’s part of her instinct, and she reassures herself by saying to herself that part of Luke Skywalker’s instinct helped him defeat Darth Vader.

She sits on the left side of the nest, looking up at Ren to find him staring at her. His hands are pressed together, long fingers interlinking and his knuckles white.  

All at once, the rage leaves her and returns to its rightful owner: Kylo Ren.

“Allayloo ta nuv!” sing the Ewoks outside.

“Sleeping,” she says. She straightens then, stretching before she shifts back on the nest, kicking off her boots. They drop with a thud onto the wood floor. A small beetle crawls out from underneath the nest’s grass, up her finger and in a spiral up her arm. She watches its path, one eye on Ren all the while.

His attention is solely on the hut door.

Sharing doesn’t worry her. Before she found that AT-AT, that flower, she’d slept, small and tiny and clutching her haulage to her chest, among Plutt’s thugs. He'd kept her close in those early years. He liked how small she was, and kept her small with half portions while the rest fed on chowder from warm bowls. When she left, the half portions became quarter, and she soon learned to live with a rumbling stomach.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Ren finally move. Her fingers twitch to go towards her hip where her saber should be, and she watches him carefully as he, without saying a word, bends down, working with the fastenings on his boots, undoing them. A laugh bubbles out from her before she can stop it. Ren looks up, raising an eyebrow amidst his dark frown.

“What? You think I sleep with my boots on?” he asks, stiffly sliding the boots off, setting them side by side. There’s a careful nature to what he does, despite the anger, and she can’t help but watch, fascinated how so many fragments can exist in one person. Graceful in battle, clumsy with the Force, military with his clothes, uncaring for subordinates and yet willing to endure the traditions of Ewoks whatever fury it invokes.

“I’ve just never,” Rey shrugs, idly watching the small beetle descend back down her arm, “thought about it before, I guess.”

The beetle hovers on the nail of her forefinger, buzzing and clicking. It flutters its wings, a sharp series of clicks, and flies away. The distant music doesn’t let up, the celebration still ongoing.

Tucking her hands underneath her cheek, she folds herself tightly into a ball. She hears the grass rustle as Ren moves to lie down. The gap between them in the night air chills her spine, and she shivers. She turns her head, peering through the dim light. On the right side of the bed, there are the crowns. The flowers twined in the crowns glow lightly in the dark.

Tinged by that faint glow, are the edges of Kylo Ren. His chin, his nose, the crown of his mouth. His feet hanging over the foot of the nest. It’s all just bits and pieces. He fidgets while he sleeps, she can see in the edges of light. He wipes his mouth with his fingers, runs his hand through his hair. His mask slips a little, allowing her to peek inside his dreams, and she sees images of nothing.

The silence is unnerving. She rolls onto her back, finding comfort in the grass, and she throws her arm over her forehead.

It is either the weight of one of them, or both of their weight, but the nest dips in the centre and Rey finds herself down the shallow slope, sliding right into the side of Kylo Ren.

They both lie there for a moment, and her own anxiety, her own anger, possesses her with a grunt. Propping herself up on her elbow, she tries to shift up, up, but every time she ends up with her back against Kylo Ren’s side.

“Could you--” She blushes furiously at even having to think of requesting this, “push me?”

Ren’s hand splays hesitantly on the high of her back, and he silently edges her up towards the flat of the nest. In the ensuing silence, Rey remains on her side, breathing slowly, still wide awake.

_ My skill is far more advanced than yours. _

She frowns.  _ What did you say? _

_ The Force. However many times we meet, my skill is always greater. You can't deny that, scavenger. _

She spitefully throws images of his fresh wound, snow around him, into his head.

“A one-time failure,” growls Ren into the evening.

_ You haven’t managed to beat me since _ , he adds.

_ Neither have you _ , she cannot resist throwing back at him.

A knock on the door has them both jumping up with a start. Rey lifts her head, staring at the door. The silence between them is chillier than ever in the passing moments.

No-one enters, but a pair of Ewok hands discreetly reach inside, setting down a pile of dark and light clothes, washed and folded. They close the door, giggles erupting among chatters of Ewokese.

Her breath of relief freezes on her tongue. Gradually, she turns her head.

In the dark, Ren stares at her. She sees his temple and the hollow of his cheek, the flyaways of his hair, lit by the flower petals, but the rest is caught in shadow.

“Goodnight, scavenger,” Ren says, voice thick with exhaustion. Somehow, she imagines him rubbing his eyes of sleep, as the pilots did at morning briefings on D’Qar after a night celebrating another victory. It sounds so similar to that, so human, that she blinks.

“We’re enemies,” she says dumbly.

Ren doesn’t respond. His thoughts are silent, his breaths slow, and it takes her a moment to realise: he’s asleep. Just like that. It’s such a rare sight that she captures it in her mind.

Overhead, thunder rolls and the Ewoks outside moan and grumble, their footsteps sounding on the bridges of their village as they return to their huts.

Rey almost feels sympathy.

* * *

Rain patters thickly on the straw roof of the hut.

The scavenger will have slept well in rough conditions such as these, in a nest of grass that still smells of morning dew. She’s displayed to him in the past her ability to sleep anywhere. Sleeping in the tops of trees, or within the narrow sections of a hollowed-out ship, she’s sly, quick like a Loth-cat but with an arrogance all her own, teasing him within their connection as he’s waited for her to tire, drifting in and out of exhaustion himself.

Slowly, as he pulls himself from sleep, Kylo keeps his eyes closed, listening to the sound of the dawn rain. It rains rarely on Endor and with his eyes closed, he maps the patterns of the rain. When the thunder strikes, and how soon the lightning follows. Gradually, the rest of his senses show him his surroundings. The mattress rustles as he shifts, his bare foot sliding over the soft muscle of a shin.

His fingers are wrapped around a waist, toned from battles and training.

The rough skin of a girl’s fingers covers his knuckles. His nose lies in the tendrils of undone hair, the scent nestled in his nostrils. He breathes it in, the scent thick like smoke. Morning heat stirs in his groin, prodding against her backside.

Kylo Ren’s eyes snap open.

Instinct, trained instinct, honed instinct tells him to scramble, run as far as possible before a trap can be sprung.

But his breath shakes. The sound is shallow and quiet, his mind painstakingly slow, dumbfounded as he is at recognising that he has his arms wrapped around his mortal enemy, with the scent of her hair in his nose.

He slides his right arm from underneath her waist. Withdraws his left arm from underneath her soft grip. He rolls gently onto his back, his hip still wedged against her backside. Blades of grass crinkle underneath him. He snaps his wrist to his chest, heart pounding.

He stares up at the ceiling for one, two, three moments. His breathing is barely audible.

The scavenger sleeps on.

Carefully, he rolls onto his right side, reaching the nest’s edge. He sits up, wincing at every sound of rustling grass, creaking wood, and stands. He slides on his boots, ignoring the fastenings, bending his head low as he pushes open the hut’s door.

A sodden scout stands before the entrance, tiny and thin with his fur matted and sticking to his form. Raindrops spatter the fabric of his hood, running off the sharp animal teeth that frame his face.

“Na goo!” he says, an immediate reaction, but then he cocks his head. Rainwater drips fast off the tip of Kylo’s nose. He holds up his hands.

“Er – uh… Coro bingee me—” The rush of rainwater splatters his head, his curls lying flat at the nape of his neck and water sliding down his arms, underneath his tunic sleeves. “Oto ji, ah-ah?”

“Ah-ah?” echoes the scout, frowning, his eyes briefly shifting up to the heavens, watching the rain. Kylo sighs, opening his mouth to repeat the question, but the scout laughs and chatters, giving directions.

Oh. A joke. They think jokes are still something he does. So he smirks, half a smile as he leaves, following the directions down the path of the bridge.

Turning left, he follows the narrower path of a second bridge. It tails off down a low slope into trees and earth. He feels half a child again, keeping his balance as he traverses the wet stones, through the thick cluster of trees. His hair sticks wetly to his nape, his soaked tunic cutting underneath his arms, constricting his movements.

The rain fades to a stop with a final weak distant roll of thunder, as he reaches flat ground. With his palms, he pushes back the tall jungle leaves, stepping out into the clearing. The swollen lake water laps at the toes of his boots. The scent of dew returns, growing in the open air, tendrils of overhanging trees dipped into the lake’s water, lazily trailing through the water. From a pile of rocks, a waterfall pours.

He drops to a crouch, sinking his wrist past the lake’s barrier. He lazily sloshes the water over his skin, lifting his head, watching the clouds brighten overhead. Endor’s wildlife croaks and calls in the aftermath of the storm, emerging from their shelters.

He knows his connection to this planet is more than a few memories, of dancing by a fire with Paploo or his mother smiling as Kneesaa (who looks old now, like Wicket, and they seemed so young when he met them the first time, but that’s not  _ him _ anymore) talked to her of her husband’s latest exploits.

Endor is not a Force-sensitive planet, but a presence lingers here still. He feels it in his bones. It’s a presence which feels far off, like the Death Star that once stood in the moon’s sky, but this presence is not born in darkness. It lies between the two binaries of the Force, something ill-defined.

He doesn’t like the shapeless feeling. So he focuses on the rest of the landscape, glancing over his shoulder and scanning the horizon. But the feeling still digs within him, picking away.

He wouldn’t put it past the scavenger to have hidden his uncle here. To aid her. To help her best him. A shiver runs up his spine and Kylo shakes his head.

He returns his attention to the water, staring at his shimmering reflection. There is little use for her to have his uncle here. She’s strong enough on her own. Their battles have shown him that well enough. Waking up to Endor’s rain showed him that well enough.

Standing, Kylo removes his tunic, then his pants and his boots. He leaves them a distance from the shoreline, the boots tucked against the folded garments. Returns to the shoreline.

He jumps in.

The water is crystal clear. He pushes his arms up in an arc, down back towards his sides, kicking his feet out, flicking his head back as he breaks the surface. He wipes the lake water from his eyes, rubbing his palms over his features before he continues, turning his head with each stroke he makes through the water. Soon, the scent of the scavenger’s hair leaves him. The whole tension of the evening and the morning leaves him.

He arches his back to force his whole body underneath the water, kicking rapidly before he reaches the surface again, taking a gulp of air before he returns underneath the water, turning back on himself, his feet pressed together as he kicks, scything through the lake water.

When he breaks to the surface, water scatters his vision, droplets on his shoulders, down his back. He wipes his eyes free and sees through the greenery the scavenger. Sitting with her knees curled towards her chest on the bank. She’s back in her robes, the grey and black, with her hair drawn back from her face. His lip curls into a snarl as he swims closer until his feet touch the earth, rising to stand. The water laps around his lower back.

“Watching me, scavenger? Planning to impale me through my back?” he asks, his snarl becoming a nasty smile. Reading her face, she doesn’t know how he woke, and he intends to keep it that way.

“Would you?” she asks in reply, too calmly.

“If it helps,” Kylo says after a silence, turning in the water, his back to her, “this peace is maddening to me too.”

It’s more maddening for the fact there is no reason behind it. He could’ve sliced the Ewoks down with his saber, felled Paploo where he stood and razed their village to the ground. But the part that danced around the fire still exists within him, still screams within him, and he found himself trying to translate words he himself barely understood for a scavenger. A  _ garbage _ picker. He hates her, and he acted as if he were her very own protocol droid.

He hides every thought from the scavenger and glares at her.

_ Kind of hoped you’d found an escape route. _ Her thought flies into his head through the connection, lazily crossing the paths of his mind. They glow as she does, with the Light, flickering with the tang of Dark.

His glare softens into a bark of a laugh, which becomes a grin.

“I wouldn’t try so soon after being foiled before.”

“I just wonder how it came to be the Master of the Knights of Ren thought it was a good idea to escape in all black,” she responds, and he finds he has no way to answer her. He could say something of desperation, that her desperation had led them to this spot, talking so calmly as they do now, but the jibe stops him short.

Paploo also stops him short, bouncing out from the clearing with the spoils of a hunt on his back. He blinks, seemingly delighted to have found them.

“Goopa!” he says, then he starts to chatter, gesturing between the two of them. The scavenger listens to him with diplomatic patience, scrambling to follow as Paploo grabs her hand and takes off into the clearing.

Kylo’s head snaps up at the last of Paploo’s chatter. He rushes forward through the water, droplets splashing around him, dampening his hair, catching in his eyes, as he reaches the bank.

“What do you mean _Luke_ _Skywalker’s here?_ ”  
  



End file.
